


Nice day for a fake wedding

by lola381pce



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Assistant Darcy Lewis, Billionaire!Phil, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Con-artist!Clint, Dorks in Love, Fake Marriage, Fake Wedding AU, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Idiots in Love, Inspired By Tumblr, Inspired by Twitter, M/M, Maria Hill is a Good Bro, Mutual Pining, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Phil Needs a Hug, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2020-04-23 10:53:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19149571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/pseuds/lola381pce
Summary: Fake wedding AU - Clark Burton sends billionaire Phil Coulson an invitation to his "wedding" to Natalie Rushman. His assistant, Darcy, sends a gift along with the RSVP but when Phil finds out about it, not recognising either name, he wonders who they are and how he knows them. When he delves deeper, he finds out they're Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff, a couple of con artists who do this for a (remarkably good) living. Phil tracks them down and confronts them...





	1. Who are Natalie Rushman and Clark Burton? (Who indeed)

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr post from this tweet "Tip for newlyweds: send a wedding invite to every billionaire whose address you can find because it's a 50/50 chance their assistants just send you a perfunctory gift without ever wondering who the hell you are."
> 
> Of course, Darcy's going to be in the don't give a damn 50 with Phil in the curious 50...

“Hey, Darcy?”

“Yeah, boss-man?”

Darcy Lewis, PA to Phil Coulson, one of New York’s wealthiest denizens, looks up from her computer as he wanders through from his adjoining office. It's late, his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and he’s frowning at the multi-page report in his hand.

“Who are Natalie Rushman and Clark Burton?” he asks peering over the top of his glasses at her. His hot professor look as Darcy calls it. Not that she had professors who looked like that when she was at college. Unfortunately. Or maybe fortunately...

She stares blankly at him for a second before the names click into place then points a triumphant finger gun at him and says, “Wedding invite for July. They’re not on your social contacts list so I sent the usual “thanks but I’m way too billionaire-y to attend your shindig, so here’s a ridiculously expensive gift and have fun on your wedding night” response.”

Phil blinks at her. “ _That’s_ the response you use?”

“Well, no,” she confesses leaving the heavily implied ‘duh’ out. “It’s a little more classy than that but that’s the gist. Why? Waddup?”

He drops his gaze to the report again, the triangle of creases above his nose deepening along with his frown. “I have no idea who either of them is.”

“Boss, you’ve met literally like… millions of people. You can’t be expected to remember them all.”

“But it’s a wedding invite. Pretty sure I should have some recollection of anyone who invites me to their wedding.”

“Seriously?”

Phil tilts his head to the side and raises an eyebrow which Darcy takes as a challenge. She clicks open a file containing a list of weddings he’s been invited to over the last ten years or so and picks a couple at random.

“Dr Jane Foster and Thor Odinson.”

Phil doesn’t hesitate. “Puente Antiguo, April 2011. They met conducting research into Einstein-Rosen Bridge theory with Dr Erik Selvig in New Mexico. SHIELD sponsored the programme. You somehow managed to wangle an invite, and... if memory serves, kept threatening to taze the groom in between bouts of ogling his “godlike muscles”.”

Darcy snorts, remembering. “Oh yeah! Blondie was ripped.”

Coulson smirks at her dreamy expression before she snaps out of it and protests, “Well, he was freaking me out with his “thous”, and “wherefores”, and “my beloveds”. Daisy Johnston and Dr Jemma Simmons.”

“New York, December 2015. Couldn’t make the wedding but... I introduced them at a charity benefit for St Agnes Orphanage. Surprised you don’t remember Daisy. Talented ex-hacker. Interned here for a few months through our prison outreach program before going to work at Stark Industries. Stark managed to poach Jemma from Hydra Research a year or so earlier. Both were from St Agnes a few years apart.”

"Hmmm, okay. For the record I _do_ remember Daisy... and Jemma, still catch up with them actually, and in the interests of full disclosure, boss, that was kind of a test. I was just checking you still did. They're pretty pissed you've not been in touch recently."

Phil ducks his head then raises it giving her a slightly shame-faced look. "Sorry. Busted. Consider me rebuked."

“And?”

“And... I will call. And I will take them out for an expensive dinner at a place of their choosing to make up for being a forgetful asshat,” he amends at Darcy’s narrow-eyed glare. “Except I know they’d rather go for Campechano Burritos at Patty’s Taco Truck.”

Darcy nods finally satisfied. They totally would rather have the Burritos. "How about Melinda May and Dr Andrew Garner. And why do you know so many doctors? Anything I should be worried about?”

“Wow! Melinda May. Name from the past.” Phil smiles fondly at the memories she apparently evokes. Darcy’s immediately curious at what the pair got up to in their younger days to make him smile like that.

“We were at university together. I was in business comms, she was in ops but we had a few classes that overlapped. We met Andrew in a psychology class we took for extra credit. They got together for a while, lost touch then bumped into each other at a conference and finally got married in the Bahamas 2007. Haven’t seen them in… huh, must be three years. And no, there’s nothing for you to worry about. None of them is that kind of doctor.”

“What about you, boss? Looks like you’re always the bridesmaid and never the bride,” she teases, peering at the long list of wedding invites.

Phil ducks his head again and tilts it to the side. “Never met the right person,” he says with a rueful half-smile. "We finished with the pop quiz so that I can get back to work?”

Darcy’s heart aches for him. Phil Coulson is the best employer she’s ever had. Well, the only employer she’s ever had but he’s a genuinely awesome guy with a big heart and an incredible ability to believe in people even when they don’t believe in themselves. He saw potential in her when everyone else just saw “a big rack and a bigger mouth” - her words - and has been his assistant at SHIELD Enterprises since she finished top of her political science/business communications class at NYU. She’s learned a lot from him during their time together and knows she’d do anything for him.

“Sure, boss. Hey, you want me to ask security to run a check on Rushman and Burton? I’m sure Maria would be up for it. Or we could ask…” she points up to the ceiling.

“Nope, still not speaking to him. Besides, I'm sure it’s fine,” he calls over his shoulder on his way back to his office. “Guess my memory’s just not as good as I thought. And Darcy… go home. It's late.”

 

* * *

 

“How much do you think?” the red-head asks her partner.

He consults the laptop in front of him and says, “Somewhere in the region of $55k. Takin’ the fence’s cut probably nearer forty.”

She gives him the brief flash of a smile and ruffles his already unruly hair affectionately. “Not bad, little bird,” she tells him. ‘Little bird’ tilts his head and smiles up at her.

His gaze drops back to his screen when she pads over to the sideboard where an expensive bottle of Burgundy has been breathing during his review of their inventory. Thirty-two wedding gifts from some of the most affluent New Yorkers in the State including the flamboyant and self-proclaimed “genius playboy billionaire philanthropist”, Tony Stark and, while not so ostentatious, a man every bit as generous, Phil Coulson.

The couple - whose identities are ever changing - are con artists who make a remarkably good living out of scamming the wealthy. The fake wedding scheme is one of many lucrative ways they have of obtaining a sizable amount of money from their unsuspecting benefactors.

They’re clever. They do extensive research before they pick their marks. They determine who will be unable to attend the "wedding” but lavish with their gifts nonetheless. They never repeat their aliases, never target the same people twice. And they never stay in one place for too long. They’ve managed to get away without detection in New York for just over a year now, the longest they’ve stayed anywhere so far. It’s a state with plenty of rich pickings but they don’t want to push their luck. It will soon be time to move on.

The woman pours a couple of glasses of wine, pausing to drink in the view from one of the suite’s vast picture windows. The view of Central Park is as breathtaking as the wine itself. She’ll miss it.

When she returns to her partner he’s quick to hide the screen he was looking at when her back was turned, but not quick enough for her sharp eyes to miss the image entirely.

Or the wistful look on his face.

She places a glass in front of him and leans over to change it back. Unsurprised, she finds Phil Coulson staring back at her. It’s a fairly new photo of him. One where, unusually, he's not wearing a perfectly tailored suit but one with which her partner appears infatuated all the same. Much like he is with the man himself. It's cute he thinks she doesn't know.

Attempting to appear unmoved by her discovery, 'Little Bird' turns his attention to the wine, dipping his nose into the glass to inhale the flowery notes of violets, cherries and dried figs. He takes a sip and holds it letting it roll slowly over his tongue and around his mouth enabling his taste buds to appreciate the flavours of the exquisite red every bit as much as his nose appreciated the scents.

It's the telltale hand on the back of his neck self-consciously rubbing his skin that belies his embarrassment at having been caught enjoying something other than the Burgundy. But god knows, he can't help himself when it comes to Coulson. As much as he tries to hide it from his partner in crime, and even though he’s never met the man, Clint's hopelessly in love with him.

“Clint…” the woman begins, her tone wary.

He winces at the concern in her voice. “I know, Tasha. I know. Never get attached to the mark. Don’t get compromised.”

Tasha holds back a sigh. That’s exactly what he’s become. For the first time in all their years together he's fallen for someone they’ve chosen to run a scam on.

“Why now? Why him?” she asks carefully.

“I dunno,” he replies with a shrug and a rueful smile. His eyes flick back to the screen and Tasha follows his gaze. She has to admit there’s something about Coulson. Not handsome in the classical sense, in fact, at first glance you could miss him in a room full of people, but something draws you back for a second, longer look.

She studies the [photo](https://aos-ouatfanatic.tumblr.com/post/183002324196/holy-shit-clarkomg-i-have-no-words-right-now) with a critical eye.

Although Coulson’s wearing casual clothes, a black crew neck and bomber jacket, the photographer has placed him in a formal pose looking directly into the lens. Every feature, every flaw has been captured with perfect clarity; the dusting of freckles across his brow, the deep creases at the corners of his eyes that twinkle with mischief despite his serious expression, his misshapen nose that’s been broken at least once, a barely-there smile ghosting across his lips, and the strong jaw with its light covering of salt and pepper scruff. Coulson’s gaze is made more intense the way the photographer has kept his facial features sharp while everything else is slightly out of focus.

And it's those piercing grey/blue eyes with little flecks of copper that help her understand her partner’s attraction to Coulson. Like his gaze, they’re mesmerising.

“It’s time to go,” she tells Clint, snapping out of the spell just before she falls under completely. “We'll head for L.A. at the end of the week.”

Clint nods sadly. He knows she's right. She's always right. But it would have been nice to see Coulson in the flesh. Just once maybe.

 

* * *

 

“Care to go on a road trip?”

Phil’s Head of Security, Maria Hill, looks up from her screen with one eyebrow raised.

Phil grins at her from the door where he’s leaning with one shoulder against the jamb, arms crossed over his chest. Hill's ex-military with over a decade of decorated service behind her. She really hates when he gets the drop on her. She's also a highly trained professional and she’ll be damned if she’ll let it show.

Her cool gaze dips to her monitor before returning to Phil’s unbearably smug smirk.

“And where are we going at 20:17 hrs on a school night?” she deadpans. She may have taught him self-defence, but the excellent poker face she favours, she learned from him.

It’s been a couple of days since his conversation with Darcy and with all the digging he’s been doing, his PA has since presented him with a fedora and now thinks it's hilarious to hum the Indiana Jones theme when she sees him at his computer. Fortunately, she drew the line at buying him a bullwhip; he’s honestly not sure what he would have said to that.

He’s made some interesting discoveries thanks to several discrete chats with a few friends including Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries who immediately offered the services of a certain Daisy Johnston-Simmons who jumped at the chance to fleck her hacking muscles once again. Discoveries he believes lead back to the soon-to-be Mr and Mrs "Burton".

He’s been at work since early this morning (which means so has Hill) but instead of looking tired, he has a glint in his eye that’s causing tightness in her chest. Not that she has the hots for her boss. She’s incredibly fond of Phil and like Darcy, would do anything for him, but she doesn’t regard him that way.

No, this is the do-I-have-heartburn-or-am-I-finally-having-a-heart-attack kind of tightness she knows well after heading up his security team for several years. His response to her question regarding the remainder of their evening confirms she’s going to have a bout of indigestion that no amount of antacid is likely to settle.

“To catch a thief. Maybe two,” Phil tells her, trying to sound casual but she can tell he’s excited at the prospect. The twitch she believed she had under control since their last escapade suddenly tugs at the skin below her eye. Oh joy!

“And that leads me to my next question, when exactly did you become the Caped Crusader?” she asks locking down her computer and getting up from behind her desk. There’s no point in trying to talk him out of it. With or without her, she knows he's going to track down the thief, or thieves, and confront them. Or offer them a job. Either way, he’s going to need his ass covered. Again.

Phil raises an unimpressed eyebrow at her. “Batman? Really?”

“Iron Man’s already taken,” she says, pulling on her jacket and grabbing her keys, tasers and handgun from her drawer. A quick tap of her pocket lets her know she has a full roll of Tums which should see her through the next couple of hours. She and Happy are going to have to get together soon for another ‘whose-boss-is-craziest’ drink. She's pretty sure she'd win this time but as Happy's boss is Tony Stark, it's 50/50.

Phil flashes her a quick grin. Although Stark and he are polar opposites in personality, they’ve been friends for many years; long-suffering and full of exasperation in the case of Phil. Still, he was as surprised as anyone when the head of Stark Industries announced himself as the red and gold clad superhero at a press conference a few years back. He can imagine how it felt to be the man in charge of that shitshow and hoped it wasn’t his first rodeo.

“Point. So Alfred… wanna go save Gotham?” he asks, with a smirk.

Hill fixes him with her own unimpressed look. “I can hurt you. You know that, right?”

“Honestly, I figured Alfred was pretty badass. Besides, I value my balls way too much to suggest you as any kind of sidekick.”

"He was a butler," she replies, dryly.

"With a British army and secret service background,” Phil points out. “C’mon, Hill. You have to admit he did a damn good job of running ops from the bat cave and keeping Bruce Wayne out of trouble. Who else would I trust to do the same for me?"

Although he’s comparing her to a comic book character, Hill recognises the sincerity in his voice. It’s the only thing that stops him being brained by the roll of Tums hitting him dead centre on the forehead.

“ _Getting_ Bruce Wayne out of trouble,” she amends, with a quick smile. “So, do I get a heads up regarding your suspicions for this evening's proposed excursion?”

Phil's amused expression becomes a little more serious. “You ever heard of Natalie Rushman and Clark Burton?”

Hill frowns as she runs the names through her memory which is almost as good as Phil's. She can't place them any more than he.

“How about Naomi Rogers and Claude Barclay? Nicole Reynard and Connor Bruce? Or Noomi Richards and Clay Bartholemew Jr?”

Hill’s frown deepens momentarily then her expression brightens as she sees the pattern in the names; NR/CB. “Fraudsters?”

Phil nods.

This is definitely an excursion she can get behind. She tosses her keys in the air, catching them with a flourish as they fall.

“To the batmobile!” she exclaims with a wicked grin.


	2. Lemon Ricotta Pancakes at The Four Seasons

“Natalie! Clark! How are you?”

Clint almost spits his drink across the bartop. He doesn't of course. He has more self-control than that but his eyes water and he stifles a cough as the mouthful of alcohol burns the back of his throat when he chokes it down in a painful gulp. After watching hours of CNN, Colbert, Bloomberg and various other news networks and late night chat shows, he’d recognise that voice anywhere.

Phil Coulson.

What the actual fuck?

It’s around 9 pm, the bar’s buzzing but far from busy and almost every head turns to observe the billionaire striding purposefully towards Clint and Natasha. Phil nods to a few people gracing them with that shy, hint of a smile but he stays true to his course.

“Stand or run?” Natasha murmurs to Clint out the side of her mouth before curling her lips up in a polite smile as she turns around.

Natasha’s a con artist seasoned by years of working for the Red Room, a morally corrupt organisation that focuses its efforts on long-term high-profit stings amongst other, less savoury activities. Improvising when a plan turns to shit is a particular skill set of hers and to anyone watching she appears relaxed and unconcerned.

And someone _is_ watching.

She does her best to ignore the tingling sensation making her skin crawl at the nape of her neck. It’s not the cops - she’d spot them a mile off - but whoever it is, they’re knocking her slightly off balance. Not that anyone other than Clint would notice. Unfortunately (or perhaps, fortunately) he's too busy trying not to freak out that Phil Coulson… _the_ Phil Coulson… _his_ Phil Coulson is almost within touching distance to detect a glitch in Tasha’s matrix.

RUN! RUN! RUN! Clint screams in his head. But by calling out and drawing attention to them, Coulson has left them no option but to adapt and try to regain control.

And _then_ they can bolt.

Clint remains calm on the outside as he turns around, a crooked grin lighting up his face. Inside his heart’s pounding trying to punch its way out of his chest and the blood roars in his ears. They’ve never been in this situation before. No-one’s ever gotten close to discovering their identities let alone actually tracking them down. And the knowledge it’s the one person he’s been having improper thoughts about who’s actually succeeded on both counts knots his stomach even more.

And fuck if Coulson doesn’t look good, really good, in a black two-piece D&G suit with a white dress shirt casually open a few buttons at the collar. A white handkerchief, as pristine as his shirt, pokes out of his breast pocket. Biting his lip Clint wonders, not for the first time, what Coulson has going on underneath all the incredibly hot suits he wears. The tease of chest hair peeking out from the open V intrigues him further until reluctantly, he drags his eyes back to Coulson's face pushing the lustful thoughts from his head.

And even that view’s not safe. The warm smile highlighting the dimples in his cheeks and deepening the creases at the corners of his eyes is killing Clint. He needs to focus which isn’t easy when Coulson’s standing in front of him like one of his late-night fantasies come to life.

"Well, hey Mr Coulson,” he says holding out his hand for Phil to take. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Wasn’t sure if you’d even remember Nat and me when we sent you the invite to the wedding.”

Phil raises an eyebrow at the way Clint’s looking at him - as though Phil were Clint's next meal and Clint hasn’t eaten in a long time. He clasps the proffered hand in his own ignoring the way his body is reacting favourably to the heated gaze. He can’t remember the last time someone looked at him like that.

Then it hits him like a bucket of ice water cooling any interest he may have felt. He’s Clint’s mark. Of course Clint’s going to look at him like that. It’s all part of the scam.

“How could I forget such a fascinating couple,” he replies easily, hiding the way the painful realisation twists his heart. It’s not the first time someone’s attempted to take advantage of him to get to his money and it certainly won’t be the last but it would have been nice if just this once, they'd been interested solely in him.

Clint gently presses Coulson's hand noting the strength in the returned grip, along with rough calluses which are surprising for a paper pusher billionaire. Not that he’s actually shaken hands with a billionaire before but still, not what he was expecting. Coulson’s grip is not so firm as to be dominating but enough to suggest quiet confidence. Clint's definitely likes it. He likes the thought of what those strong, rough hands and elegant fingers could do to him under different circumstances. He does his best to ignore his cock which is seeking attention like a dog begging for scraps at the kitchen table. Only a lot less patiently.

“Thank you so much for the beautiful gift, Mr Coulson,” Natasha says quietly, curling her hand around Clint’s free forearm. “It was incredibly generous.”

Phil flicks his eyes to hers and she rewards him with a shy smile while giving Clint's arm a careful squeeze to centre him. The subtle gesture isn’t missed by Phil but he doesn’t comment on it.

“My pleasure, Ms Rushman,” he responds warmly. To his surprise the feeling is genuine. Even though he’s well aware the couple is playing him, he’s impressed at the way they’ve rolled with the situation without panicking. They're incredibly cool-headed. Not easily intimidated. He can appreciate that.

“Natalie, please,” she tells him, tilting her head and looking up at him through her eyelashes.

Phil nods at her invitation, his eyebrow riding a little higher in amusement. He’s not very good at the whole flirting thing but even he can tell Natasha’s coming on to him. Or more likely, trying to distract him while she works out what his intentions are. It’s a good tactic but charming as he finds her, sadly she’s misjudged him if she thinks that’s all it would take. Even if it had been her rather handsome partner he wouldn’t allow himself to be sidetracked from his task.

It’s then he realises his hand is still wrapped around Clint’s. Oops!

“Have to confess,” he says, finally letting go giving Clint a bashful grin which makes Clint’s stomach flutter. “It took a moment or two for me to recollect how we knew each other. Was it New Hampshire or Florida? Washington maybe or possibly even Texas where we met? But... after a little digging, it all came back to me. It was here in New York. A year or so ago.”

Neither Clint nor Natasha flinch but they can't miss Coulson's implications. He knows exactly who they are. He knows the states in which they’ve been operating over the past few years, and even how long they’ve been in New York. The question is, what is he going to do about it?

“Y’know, I’d love to catch up if you’re free? I realise you must be busy with preparations for the wedding but… if you wouldn’t mind indulging a new benefactor.”

Clint rubs the back of his neck self-consciously as a wave of guilt rolls over him. A benefactor is someone who gives money or other help willingly. Natasha and he scammed Coulson just as they’ve done everyone else but with him - with Coulson - it always seemed… different somehow. Less satisfying. From all his research, Coulson seems like a genuinely decent guy. Someone who puts their money, power and influence behind so many good causes but still manages to remain unassuming and humble. It’s part of the reason he fell for him.

Clint uses this unexpected feeling of guilt to play the bashful young groom-to-be to get them out of the situation and, more importantly, away from his crush. “Well, I dunno, Mr Coulson. As you say, we’ve got wedding stuff…”

Natasha slaps his arm playfully, acting every bit the excited future bride. “Nonsense, Clark. I’m sure we can spend some time to listen to what Mr Coulson has to say.” She needs to know what Coulson has planned for them and is more than willing to play along. For now anyway.

Phil nods. “Excellent. Perhaps you'd care to join me for a drink.”

He motions his hand towards an empty booth near the back of the bar in an ‘after you’ gesture. His manner is easy-going, however, both Clint and Natasha are wary as they walk towards it with drinks in hand. Phil keeps the small talk going asking them how they like staying at The Four Seasons, and if they've tried the lemon ricotta pancakes for breakfast. He’s a huge pancake fan and these are pretty hard to beat.

At Natasha's look, Clint picks the seat with clear sightlines on the rest of the room and slides in first with Natasha right beside him. Phil sits opposite Clint. As they settle in, a woman joins them setting a drink in front of Phil while keeping one for herself. Natasha knows immediately this is the watcher she sensed a few moments ago. Maria Hill, Coulson’s Head of Security. She recognises her from the photos in the file she and Clint compiled.

Phil looks at the hideous concoction for a moment, his face barely managing to retain its inscrutable expression.

“Huh! And this is what exactly?” he asks, not taking his eyes off it as though the drink has personally offended him. To be fair, it's so obnoxious it would personally offend most people.

Clint, of course, loves it.

“Ah! Not yours. Mine,” Maria says swapping her glass with Phil’s while keeping her gaze firmly fixed on Clint and Natasha. “It’s a[Painkiller](https://vinepair.com/cocktail-recipe/the-painkiller-recipe/). Pretty sure I’m going to be needing some sort of analgesic by the end of tonight. Yours is an [Old Fashioned](https://vinepair.com/cocktail-recipe/old-fashioned/).”

“People like a little old fashioned,” he protests lightly, taking a sip. Ah, it’s the rum version and a fresh wave of love for Maria rolls over him.

Clint smirks for a nanosecond, soothed a little by their snarky banter before his expression turns neutral again. He’s very much aware Tasha and he are in a dangerous situation here and refuses to allow himself to be disarmed by Coulson and his companion’s easy familiarity in front of them. Remaining suspicious and distrustful is the better option. Life has taught him that if nothing else.

Hill misses very little however and files Clint's reaction away for another time.

Clint leans forward forearms on the table, hands clasped together, and begins his gambit. “So, Mr Coulson…”

Phil tilts his head to the side. “Yes, Mr Barton?”

Finally startled, Clint pulls back. His shoulders hit the plush leather backrest of the booth with a muted thump. At the same moment as Natasha, Clint realised Coulson obviously knew their real identities, but to hear his name out loud like that is plain unnerving (and really, how the hell had he managed to find all that shit out anyway).

It’s not just the knowledge that they’ve been discovered that’s throwing him. It’s the way Coulson’s currently studying him from across the table with those intense, blue eyes of his. Those intense blue eyes that he’s dreamed of looking into for months now. And that hint of a smile currently playing on his lips is similarly disconcerting. Fuck! He's so much more… everything in real life.

Clint wants to grab him by the lapels and kiss that amused look off his face. Instead, he mumbles “Ahh… Um…”

Oh yeah. Real intelligent, Barton.

Natasha gives herself a mental facepalm at Clint’s behaviour. He’s better than this. Way better. Like her, he learned his talents, however reluctantly, under the tutelage of some hardcore criminals with names such as Trickshot and The Swordsman. Their cruel and often painful lessons taught him how to adapt to any given situation, turning a complication into an advantage.

But right now he’s a raging dumpster fire. It shows just how much he’s been compromised by the man sitting so calmly in front of them. Tasha needs to get him out of here. She needs to get him safe. But to do that she first needs to find out what Coulson’s plans are and she won’t achieve that by running.

Knowing Clint is currently of no help she takes charge, dropping all pretence at being the wide-eyed-innocent-bride-to-be, and demands, “What do you want, Mr Coulson?”

“Come work for me.”

Clint and Natasha stare at him like he's grown another head. Not quite open-mouthed but definitely with a surprised eyebrow or four raised between them. Of all the things he could have said, neither of them expects that.

Unlike Hill.

She groans inwardly and reaches for the antacids crunching a couple between her teeth before washing them down with a mouthful of her cocktail. Peppermint and pineapple... ew! Her face stubbornly refuses to register the disgust her taste buds are experiencing. Nor does it hint at the risk management nightmare her brain is running as a terrifying slide deck in her head. She tries to content herself with the thought that, while the combination of antacids and alcohol might make her symptoms worse, if she's lucky at least the booze will numb her brain enough to get her through the next few hours.

On the upside, she knows for sure she's going to win the next ‘whose-boss-is-craziest’ competition with Happy. Yay, bright side!

“Why?” Clint asks sounding uncertain and a little shocked. “Why would you want us to work for you?”

Phil casually circles the pad of his middle finger around the rim of the glass until he shrugs and tilts his head to look up at Clint.

“Why wouldn't I?" he answers. "You two have a particular set of skills we could use at SHIELD. The way you’ve handled yourselves tonight alone would be invaluable. And... I’d much rather have you working for SHIELD than against. Besides you’re wasted doing this...” He waves his hand in the air to indicate their surroundings. “This penny ante stuff.”

Clint bristles at that. He and Tasha are fucking good at what they do and clearing $200k+ between them a year isn’t bad. It’s certainly not penny fucking ante. Then again, to someone who probably makes that a second, it probably is.

Unconcerned with the way Clint angrily shifts in his seat, Phil continues. “You make what… around 40 or 50k with a good hustle? Probably pull five or six of those a year plus whatever small stuff you’ve got running. You pay a fence maybe 20% then split what's left. So maybe you get to spoil yourselves for a couple of nights in a fancy hotel every month or so. With all the research and prep it must take to set up a play like this and the risk of being caught while seeing it through, it's really not much of a reward. Not when you could be making so much more. Doing so much more with those talents of yours.”

As Coulson talks, Natasha studies him until finally, she interrupts with enough ice in her tone to bring the temperature in the room down a few degrees, “That’s a fascinating assessment, Mr Coulson. And what if we're happy with our "penny ante" lifestyle? What if we say no to your proposal?”

Coulson holds her frosty glare and suggests mildly, “I could ask you again under SHIELD's prison outreach programme.”

Clint tenses and Natasha’s eyes narrow. Once again Coulson’s implication is clear to them. They say no, he turns them over to the cops. Okay, they can work with that. By the time he finishes his call, they'll have grabbed the essentials out of their hotel room and be on their way to California.

Coulson reads something in their body language that makes him realise they’ve mistaken his meaning. They’ve perceived his words as a threat when he meant them as a warning. That one day someone other than him will find them and take them down. He has no intention of doing so even if he can’t convince them to work for him.

He flicks his eyes at Maria who's gulping her drink like it's water confirming he's made a serious error. He'll have to work hard now to gain their trust. Crap!

He clenches the muscles in his jaw as he considers his next words more carefully. Slowly, so as not to agitate the pair further, he straightens from his relaxed position in the booth. Concern shows in his gaze, his voice is pitched low and reassuring. He addresses them both but speaks directly to Natasha.

“If you say no, Ms Romanoff, I will respect your decision. I have no interest in forcing you or Mr Barton into my employ but… I will expect you to leave New York. Tonight. The authorities will not be contacted regarding your fraudulent activity. No-one will be any the wiser. If, on the other hand, you say yes, I would like to assure you I take care of my people. You'll be able to afford to live well without needing to put so much of your money into those medical and retirement funds you started for yourself and Mr Barton. If you wish, you can put that into the trust funds started up by Mr Barton for victims of child abuse, rape, and human trafficking.”

“How did the fuck did you find that out?” Clint snarls leaning forward again, his expression morphing into something less benign and decidedly more murderous. That shit is private. It was well hidden with no obvious trail back to either of them, paper or electronic. Or so he'd believed.

Natasha places her hand on Clint's forearm to settle him.

Phil’s completely unfazed by his outburst.

“With help from someone who used to work for me through SHIELD's prison outreach programme,” he replies, calmly.

Maria finally rolls her eyes. “Oh, for the love of… Say yes. You've had a good run. Lived comfortably for a few years. But there’s only so many times you’re going to get away with it before someone else catches on. Someone who shuts you down with a call to the cops. Or worse.”

Clint barely holds back a shiver at the thought of Carson’s people finding him. Trickshot and The Swordsman’s nefarious and often violent activities turned his stomach on many occasions, and when the opportunity presented itself he grabbed it and ran. Of course, they tracked him down and put him in hospital with multiple broken bones and a face like a slab of raw meat. The last thing he remembered before slipping into blessed unconsciousness was the glint of a knife and the threat of worse if he didn’t come back to the fold.

He doesn’t want them to find him again. Or the Red Room to find Natasha.

Ever.

Phil can see the fear in Clint’s face and the concern in Natasha’s and is conscious that Hill's struck a nerve. There's definitely a backstory there and he’s betting it’s ugly and painful probably forcing them to do things to survive he can’t even imagine. He understands the situation in which he's placed them and is full of compassion for their plight. But... Hill's right. Their luck was bound to run out eventually. Probably long overdue. Fortunately for them, it’s he and Hill who have found them. The next person is unlikely to be so forgiving.

Natasha’s fingers slide from their place of comfort on Clint’s forearm to rest on the back of his hand. Immediately, Clint turns his large paw over to wrap it around Natasha’s small, delicate one, gripping on to her tightly like a lifeline. Small and delicate her hand may be but it’s also quick and accurate and packs one hell of a wallop in a tussle. It also can provide solace with a single touch and he really needs that right now. He needs… they need to be centred to make a decision.

Clint looks at her and leans his face towards her. Natasha meets him halfway to rest her forehead against his.

Phil registers an unexpected pang in his chest at their obvious love for each other and the way a simple touch seems to give them strength. He’s never had that kind of relationship with someone; a closeness where words weren’t always necessary. He’s also surprised at the openness with which they display their affection in front of him and Maria. Phil chooses to believe their emotions are genuine and not just a ruse to distract them.

With that in mind, he can’t help but feel a little envious of the connection Clint has with Natasha. Even though he’s just met him, he’s attracted to Clint in ways he can’t explain and he wonders what it would be like for Clint to be intimate with him. To have those large, attractive hands sliding over his body, pinching and stroking him; those knobbly fingers working him open. To have Clint’s lips pressed against his heated skin making him moan with pleasure; his strong arms wrapped around him afterwards holding him close. Or just for them to sit in silence with their fingers linked together enjoying the quiet intimacy of each other’s company.

Well, that’s totally inappropriate. And pretty fucked up!

He bites his lip and looks down at the tabletop then off to the side to give them some privacy. And to hide the flush spreading across his cheekbones.

As always, Maria watches all and sees everything, keeping her own counsel until it's called upon. Or until she believes it's time to provide it whether it's asked for or not. For now, she contents herself with breaking the awkward silence gently tapping her roll of antacids on the table top.

“You know, despite the constant indigestion he gives me, I decided a long time ago I wouldn’t work for anyone else. I was in a shit place in a shit country when Coulson found me. Made some mistakes that got me a few extra scars and pretty much shattered my faith in humanity. But he didn't hesitate. He brought me back Stateside, took me in and gave me a sense of purpose, of belonging, I didn’t think I’d ever find again.”

She fires a threatening glare at Phil with narrowed eyes. “I’ll shoot you if you ever mention this again.”

The corner of Phil’s mouth curls up in a small but affectionate smile. He knows she knows he would never bring it up but her words mean a lot to him. Apart from the part about indigestion. That’s hurtful.

Natasha nods at Hill then gently pulls her head away from Clint turning it towards Coulson instead. “May Clint and I have time to talk?”

Phil reaches inside his suit jacket and brings out a business card. Tasha notes that it’s expensive stock, plain white with a stylised black eagle logo centred on top, SHIELD Enterprises beneath and finally Phillip J Coulson at the bottom. No job title or position or even contact details. Classy.

Maria hands him a pen and he writes a phone number in an untidy scrawl on the back. He hands it to Natasha but it’s Clint’s deft fingers that pluck it carefully from his hand.

“My personal cell,” Phil tells them and adds, “When you’re ready.”

Without the need for further communication, Natasha nods again and slips out of the booth. Clint doesn’t look at him as he follows his partner the card still clutched tightly in his fingers.

Phil drops his gaze as they walk away unable to watch them leave.

“Oh Phil,” Maria says gently.

She spends a lot of time with her boss. They've become close over the years. She knows how to read him. Knows when he wants her to stay close and when to give him room; when he’s trying hard not to punch someone in the face (fundraisers and board meetings) and when he’s having a genuinely good time (throwing himself into work for the less fortunate); when he’s bone weary and wants to go home or he’s wired and needs to let off steam.

His actions have confirmed the suspicions she'd half-formed through the impromptu meeting and she now knows unequivocally her boss has found something he's always wanted at the same time he may just have lost it. In the space of half an hour, Phil Coulson has fallen in love.

Phil tilts his head towards her and gives her a sad smile.

“I’m an old fool, huh?”

“No,” she says with a shake of her head and a brief smile of her own. “Just human.”

She wants to hug him and she will later, in private. Here there are too many prying eyes that would add two and two to make a load of trouble. For now she nudges her shoulder against his and takes his hand below the table, giving it a quick squeeze.

“Let’s go home,” he tells her, returning the gesture. “They’re not coming back.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”


	3. Did you know Stephen Colbert was in love with you?

It's around 2 am when Phil's cell rings.

Groggy with sleep, he reaches over to pick it up from the nightstand muttering a curse when he fumbles it nearly dropping it to the floor. Cracking open an eyelid, he squints against the light of the screen to read the number. It’s unknown to him yet instinct drives him to answer it anyway, his heart hammering in his chest.

"You know we couldn't risk it, yeah?"

He recognises the quiet voice immediately. Clint.

Phil's heart stutters before gradually steadying to a less frantic pace, and the sleep-fog clears from his brain. 

"I know," Phil replies, his voice gravelly like he's been gargling rocks. Holding the cell to his ear, he rolls onto his back and continues. "You don't know me. Don't know if you can trust me."

The silence stretches for a moment then, "Yeah."

Clint sounds relieved that Coulson seems to get why he and Natasha bolted a few nights earlier. It seems less to do with his ultimatum and more with his having found them in the first place. Phil can understand that.

"I wanted to… _we_ wanted to," Clint corrects quickly. "To trust you, y'know? But you being there, it was... unexpected. An'... so was your offer."

Phil smiles. "It's an open invitation, Mr Barton. No time limit."

"Oh! Okay then."

Neither of them speaks again and a minute or so later Phil ends the call aware Clint has gone. He doesn't bother making a note of the number. It's likely to be a burner that's already been destroyed but somehow he feels easier now. Clint's made the first move. Perhaps he'll still get a chance to work on their trust issues. Maybe even bring them to SHIELD. To his family.

To him.

* * *

 

The same thing happens a few nights later at the same time. It’s a different number but once again Phil takes a chance.

“You having second thoughts about my offer, Mr Barton?” he asks. His head isn’t quite as muzzy but his voice is no less sleep-filled.

There’s silence then, “Nope. Are you?”

There’s a teasing note to Clint’s tone that gives Phil a warm feeling inside. He closes his eyes, his mouth quirking up at the corner in a half-smile.

“Open invitation, Mr Barton. Remember?”

“Sure, I remember.”

Once again the conversation - such as it is - is short and Phil ends the call feeling through the silence Clint has gone. 

 

* * *

 

“Mr Barton, talk to me,” Phil murmurs into the phone.

“How did y'know it was me?”

“It’s 2 am. Not exactly a peak time for cold callers.”

“An’ I thought maybe you were psychic.”

“Not so much.”

“Should I stop?” The tone is teasing again but there’s a note of uncertainty behind it this time.

“And how will I know when you’ve changed your mind?” His voice is quiet, and he hopes reassuring.

“Maybe I’ll just turn up one day.”

“I wish you would,” Phil says wistfully into the darkness. He’s not worried that Clint might hear him. Once again he knows Clint's already ended the call.

“You want me to run a trace on his ass?” asks a disembodied voice from the speakers in the ceiling.

“You can do that?" Phil asks, surprised.

"Bitch, please…"

Phil cuts the voice off before it goes on a rant. "That won’t be necessary, M.A.R.C.U.S. Thank you.”

“You sure, Coulson? Cuz my spidey-sense is tingling, telling me that motherfucker seems to be throwing you off your game.”

Phil clenches his jaw and he’s not sure if it’s from amusement or annoyance. He's still not completely on speaking terms with the AI after the foul-mouthed tirade he let loose during a recent visit to SHIELD by Undersecretary of the World Security Council. A foul-mouthed tirade that almost destroyed the uneasy truce he and Alexander Pierce had cultivated over the last few years much as he'd like to kick the man's ass himself.

“I’m sure, M.A.R.C.U.S. Privacy mode, please.”

“Mm-hmm,” the voice snarks before shutting himself down until he’s needed again.

Damn Tony Stark! In the course of one of his annoyingly helpful periods where he wouldn't take no for an answer, Stark had insisted in creating an artificial intelligence system for Phil along the same lines as J.A.R.V.I.S. but more structured to Phil's needs. Thus M.A.R.C.U.S. was born - Management and Analysis of Risk and Controls Upload System.

It isn't that Phil's not grateful; he is. M.A.R.C.U.S. is pretty incredible. But he regrets ever telling his friend about his favourite professor at college on whom Stark decided to base the personality. At least Stark's perception of him which turned out to be a cross between Mitch Hennessy from The Long Kiss Goodnight and John Shaft.

In truth, Stark's not far off. The man himself knew how to captivate a lecture hall with his snarky, dry humour and his encouragement of original thinking. However, the way he strode purposefully along the corridors with his eyepatch and ubiquitous black leather coat swirling around him, he should have been in charge of a highly classified government spy agency instead of teaching final year college students. Even his name, Nick Fury, suggested he was something more sinister.

It didn't help he had a mouth that could make a sailor blush which Stark had incorporated into the AI's programming. M.A.R.C.U.S. was known to throw a "motherfucker" or "bitch, please" into the conversation at the most inappropriate times. Hence the faux pas. Thankfully Stark had relented when he realised how serious the situation could have been (albeit after laughing for way too long in Phil's opinion) and modified the AI's programming so that his language was only colourful during informal gatherings.

Now that he knows it's possible, Phil is half tempted to ask M.A.R.C.U.S. to locate Clint. And Natasha, obviously. But he wants him... them to come to him without his intervention.

If he maintains his distance, keeps patient maybe they will. One day.

 

* * *

 

“I’ll be out of town for the next couple of days.”

“Goin’ somewhere nice?” Clint asks.

“Depends on your definition of nice. Somewhere the Foundation is needed.”

Clint’s aware of SHIELD Enterprises' _What Dreams May Come_ Foundation. He’s 100% behind the way it provides assistance to the sick, the disadvantaged, and the underprivileged around the world. It’s Coulson’s baby and Clint loves the way he supports it like a protective mother, a proud father, and a patient teacher rolled into one.

Man, he’s got it bad!

“So I guess I won’t be speakin’ to you for a while,” he says, trying not to sound disappointed.

“Up to you, Mr Barton. Just wanted to let you know I might not be able to answer if you call at your usual time.”

“Too busy to talk to me?”

“Time zones.”

“Ah." There's quiet on the line then Clint enquires innocently, "I have a usual time?"

"Two am apparently."

There’s a muffled snort that makes Phil smile. Then Clint asks, “You want me to stop?”

There’s that question again. The amusement disappears from Phil’s face, wiped away by the doubt still in Clint’s voice when he asks it.

“No,” he says quietly.

Phil doesn’t add Clint’s 2 am calls are rapidly becoming the best part of his day. He has Natasha. He doesn’t need to know how Phil feels about him.

The call continues for a little longer until Clint teases, "Have fun on your trip. Will ya miss me?"

"Like a toothache," Phil deadpans.

"You'll miss me."

Phil ends the call grinning at the smugness in Clint's voice.

 

* * *

 

“Did you know Stephen Colbert is in love with you?”

Phil laughs softly raising goosebumps on Clint’s skin and setting a fire in his belly. He doesn’t need to see the self-deprecating shrug and shy smile to know Coulson’s doing both.

“It’s true,” Clint insists, ignoring his dick which is reacting to Coulson’s voice like Pavlov’s dog. ”I saw the way he looked at you tonight, all doe eyes and school girl blushes.”

“You sure it wasn’t the other way round?”

“Nuh-uh. Definitely all him. I think it was the way you looked as though you could have taken down the World Security Council single-handed. All righteous fury and fire in your eyes.”

“Yeah, well. It may think it’s doing its best to keep the world safe but... in reality, it’s as shady as fuck. Someone has to speak up to let it know people are watching. Power corrupts, Mr Barton.”

Clint bites his lip and presses his palm to his cock, straining against his jeans. God, he's so turned on right now. He could have come from the way Coulson said “fuck” alone. That commanding tone, so full of passion.

“Oh, you said something alright,” he says when he’s able to speak without his voice betraying him. He really wants to slide his hand into his jeans, past the waistband of his boxer briefs and jerk himself off while Coulson talks to him. But that would be wrong. So wrong.

“Too much?” Coulson asks. Clint freezes thinking for a split second Coulson knows exactly what's on his mind. Then he realises Coulson’s referring to what he said about the WSC.

“Maybe for Colbert," Clint tells him, guilty removing his hand from his dick. "Thought he was going to swoon.”

“Funny.”

Clint laughs. “Yeah, that’s me. So, uh… I guess it’s my turn to disappear. Got something to take care of for a few days.”

Phil should be surprised by the abrupt change in conversation but he’s not. It’s pretty much how all their late night talks have gone. He doesn’t ask where Clint and Natasha are going or what they’re doing, it’s none of his business, but he does wonder at the twisting of his gut. Worry or longing, he’s not sure which.

“I have to tell you to be careful, Mr Barton?”

“Nah, that’s a given.”

“I figured.” And when he's certain Clint's gone, he closes his eyes and whispers, "Stay safe, Clint."


	4. Most People Just Have An Alarm Clock

Phil’s tired but exhilarated thanks to the recent project he's been working on. Literally working on. His muscles ache and his hands are sore from physical labour rather than the mental stresses and strains he’s used to.

As he does at the start of any new construction project (whenever time allows), Phil’s been on site helping with renovations to a derelict property currently undergoing conversion into apartments through the Foundation. He's been working side by side with contractors, and the homeless for whom the completed building is intended. They have no idea who he is. They think he’s just another labourer or homeless guy and talk to him while they work about their families, about how they ended up on the streets or how they feel about working on the project, sharpening old skills and learning new ones.

It’s eye-opening sometimes. Their stories, often heart-breaking, serve to focus him on getting aid to where it’s needed most and that there's sufficient funding to see it through even if it means organising fundraisers or financing it himself. Occasionally being on site helps him weed out the type of asshole contractors he doesn’t want near his projects or the people they benefit. The belligerent, bullying kind that has no empathy for those in need.

Plus he kind of enjoys being hands-on, enjoys the change of pace compared to the endless meetings, phone calls, and paperwork of his usual workday.

Phil's also worried.

It’s been almost a week since his last conversation with Clint. He knows he shouldn’t be afraid for him. Clint and Natasha have been looking after themselves and each other long before he got involved but he can’t help feeling... unsettled. And a little responsible. Fortunately, the work keeps his mind occupied and away from any maudlin thoughts.

Well, for the most part. He still wakes at 2 am to check his cell.

Hill also helps, albeit unwittingly. She's been riding his ass the whole time, muttering under her breath about having no idea how he expects her to protect him when he pulls shit like this; it’s no wonder she has indigestion, in fact, it’s a miracle she’s not had that long overdue heart attack yet. All the while she’s working alongside him pounding nails into timber like she wishes it was his head.

Phil hides a fond smile from her and listens to her rant knowing it’s been planned out months in advance; that's she reviewed the security arrangements and OSHA requirements with M.A.R.C.U.S. and her team a dozen times before finally approving the visit.

The only downer on his day is that Darcy called moments ago to say some people have turned up unannounced and she can’t get them to leave. She’s called security but she reckons they’ll probably sue if any of the team lays a hand on them. She’s managed to convince them to leave the foyer at least, and wait in a meeting room with the offer of tea, coffee, and cookies but it might be better if he gets here sooner rather than later. She'll send him and Maria images from the security feed to give them an idea of who they're dealing with.

Disgruntled, Phil agrees and with Maria by his side arrives back at SHIELD straight off the construction site, unshowered and still wearing their work clothes. If they’re that keen to see him they’ll have to take him as they find him. Whoever they are. Difficult to know when the footage fails to upload.

 

* * *

 

Phil almost does a double take when he sees who’s waiting for him. He gives Darcy a wide-eyed look of disbelief before kicking into unflappable Coulson mode; although perhaps a couple of seconds too late for it to be completely successful. The shit eating grin on her face tells him she’s not an innocent party in the ruse and she already knows exactly who’s sitting at the polished oak table drinking her boss's favourite coffee, eating Chef Stephane's cookies. It's entirely possible the whole damsel in distress story was her idea. The dodgy upload was a nice touch though, he'll give her that.

“Hey, boss-man. I'd like to introduce you to the mysterious and incredibly hot Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton but I think you guys met already. Really, Mr C, I'm disappointed you didn't mention how seriously sexy they are?"

“Ms Romanoff, Mr Barton,” he greets them calmly, ignoring Darcy’s comments. Unconsciously, his eyes dart over them checking for signs of injury or stress. Relieved both seem to be fine, his gaze lingers on Clint a little longer. He looks good. Relaxed in jeans and a faded grey Henley with the sleeves pushed up to reveal smooth, tanned forearms, the muscles and thick veins of which leave Phil wanting to map them with his tongue. He clenches his jaw against whatever noise is threatening to escape his throat. A whimper, a moan, a muttered expletive. Perhaps even all three.

As for Clint, he's lost the power of speech thanks to nearly swallowing his tongue when Coulson entered the meeting room.

He's waiting for him with Natasha obviously, expecting him in an immaculate two or three-piece suit with not a hair out of place. What he's not expecting is for him to appear in worn jeans and a soft, green t-shirt with two-day-old scruff and a fucking buzz cut. Holy shit!

Dark patches of sweat still stain the chest and under the arms which Clint finds hotter than he probably should. There’s a red mark across Coulson's forehead where his hard hat, now in his hand with his work gloves, has been pressing against the skin (maybe a little tight, someone should talk to him about that, Clint thinks). Speaking of skin, there’s a whole lot of arm on display and, like the callouses on Coulson’s palms, the firm muscles of his forearms are unexpected. And libido stirringly sexy.

Clint’s never had this particular fantasy about Coulson before, he's had no reason to, but now it's in his head it goes straight to the top of his spank bank for future use. And boy, Construction Worker Coulson is going to get a lot of use! Bow chicka wow wow!

“Mr Coulson,” Natasha acknowledges. She gives Clint a sideways glance and rolls her eyes at him. God, she misses the skilled con artist he used to be before they became tangled up with Phil Coulson.

Clint's still too busy staring at Coulson to register his eyes (or hers) on him. Apparently, his brain has decided to remain offline leaving him unable to form cohesive sentences just yet. Or even just a simple hello. By way of contrast, Natasha's managed to give Hill a slow, full body perusal and indicate how hot she finds the security chief in work gear similar to that of Coulson. All without turning into a puddle of goo.

"Darcy, appreciate you keeping our guests entertained but… I'm sure you have something more important to do back at your desk," Phil suggests.

Unable to take the hint, or perhaps ignoring it completely she retorts, "Nuh-uh, boss. Trust me, I have nothing more important than this going on in my life right now."

For some reason, that seems to shake Clint out of his daze and he grins at her. He loves that the women in Coulson's life are obviously scary smart and come with an extra large side order of sass.

“Darcy,” Phil repeats mildly with a raised eyebrow.

"Aw, damn,” she says sliding off the conference table where she’s settled herself between Clint and Natasha. "You got it, boss-man."

She takes Coulson’s hardhat and gloves and throws the group a mock salute accompanied by a cocky grin before disappearing through the door Maria is holding open for her. Apparently, the tone/eyebrow combination is something not even Darcy messes with.

Both Clint and Natasha find that of interest; Natasha for its significance as a line drawn, and Clint to see if it’s a line he can cross. And how far.

“May I ask, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Phil enquires crossing the room towards them and more importantly, the coffee.

Clint gets to his feet as Phil nears them and immediately regrets the movement. So long as Coulson keeps his eyes above the waistband of Clint’s jeans, he should be good otherwise he's going to see Clint's half-hard… and getting harder the closer Coulson gets. Fortunately, the thought of coffee has captured Phil's attention.

“To discuss your proposal, if it's still open...” Natasha replies. It’s not quite a question but she leaves it hanging for Phil to interpret as he wishes.

A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He joins them at the table and, still standing, pours himself a cup. He looks over to Maria who shakes her head at his silent offer.

“There was never a deadline, Ms Romanoff. Just glad you and Mr Barton have been thinking it over. I'd be delighted to welcome you both to SHIELD. Specifically, to the _What Dreams May Come_ Foundation.”

Maria nods to herself at that. Involving them in the Foundation makes perfect sense given their limited knowledge of Romanoff and Barton's histories. They’d do well there under Coulson’s mentoring. The money it draws may still provide temptation to a couple of con artists but nothing like the rest of SHIELD's business activities. She's too cynical sometimes, she knows that, but a healthy dose of pessimism in the head of security isn't always a bad thing. She'll leave the cheerful optimism to Coulson.

Phil takes a sip of coffee and smiles in contentment as the rich flavour rolls over his tongue. He peers at Clint and Natasha over the rim of the cup, adding, “Be happy to take you through my thoughts on where you would fit in although... had I known you were coming, I might have made more of an effort to dress appropriately. I’m afraid Hill and I came here straight from a project we’re working on.”

Natasha gives him the barest of smiles. “Perhaps it’s symbolic if we’re going to build a relationship.”

“Perhaps it is,” he agrees, with a similar quirk of his lips.

Honestly, Clint thinks Construction Worker Coulson is a good look but wisely, keeps it to himself. With a little luck, there might be a time and a place to tell him that but right now he leaves Tasha in charge just as they’d agreed during their many late night discussions regarding coming to SHIELD. Late night...well, early morning discussions that generally occurred after his 2 am call to Coulson.

Surprisingly, Natasha was the one who’d pushed for it after completing her own background research into SHIELD and Coulson. Clint still wanted to, now more than ever, but he wasn’t sure his decision was for the right reasons. Natasha, on the other hand, was more pragmatic and had convinced him that his feelings for Coulson aside, perhaps working for the right person, someone who would give them security and support when needed, was a good idea.

“I wonder if I could impose on your hospitality a little more…" Natasha asks, gracefully rising to her feet. "Perhaps someone could direct me to the washroom. We've been here a little while.”

Immediately suspicious (she’s Coulson's security chief… so sue her) Maria pushes herself off the wall by the door where she’s been leaning, silently observing the interaction between the three.

“I believe I can take you, Ms Romanoff,” she says arching an elegant eyebrow. Natasha smiles at the double meaning behind her words. In fact, the thinly disguised warning isn't lost on any of them.

Although Maria caught (and maybe even appreciated) Natasha’s eyes on her earlier, her offering to act as a guide has nothing to do with the heated gaze that travelled over her slowly from head to toe. It has everything to do with not trusting either Romanoff or Barton as far as she can spit. Coulson may have offered them employment but right now, they’re still two con artists a hair’s breadth from jail. Coulson, she knows, won’t leave Barton unattended. She just hopes he doesn’t become too distracted by his charge. However, just in case...

“M.A.R.C.U.S. monitor and record. Block any unauthorised electronics and advise me immediately.”

“Already on it, Hill.” The voice from the ceiling startles both Clint and, much to her annoyance, Natasha.

“The fuck’s that?” Clint demands, looking up.

“Something you’ll have to get used to if you're going to work for SHIELD, Mr Barton. Ms Romanoff, if you’d care to come with me.”

“It’s wise that you don’t trust us,” Natasha says as she joins Maria at the door. She makes no comment about ‘the voice’. “But I hope that one day you will.”

“Mm-hmm,” Maria replies with an unimpressed look. On some level, she may want to but it’s not happening any time soon.

“Seriously, what the fuck was that?” Clint asks of Coulson when Maria and Natasha leave. Before Phil can answer, the voice speaks again.

“Name’s M.A.R.C.U.S., Mr Barton. Coulson’s AI. I've been designed to recognise risk and identify control measures to mitigate _said risk_. Right now, you and your partner are pinging my radar like a fleet of nuclear subs closing in on the western seaboard so I _suggest_ you don’t fuck up. Coulson's not always the pussycat he seems to be.”

“That’s not creepy at all,” Clint mutters with a grimace.

“M.A.R.C.U.S. can be a little... melodramatic,” Phil tells him, smirking from behind the rim of his cup.

“Yeah,” Clint agrees not sounding fully convinced. Thing is he doesn’t believe the AI is being melodramatic at all. For all that Coulson seems charming and benign, he recalls the billionaire's appearance on _The Late Show_ with Stephen Colbert the previous week with a slight shiver. The way he kept his cool and wore that little half-smile when he quietly and calmly tore the World Security Council a new one was pretty hot at the time. Now, standing in the SHIELD building being lectured (threatened?) by a disembodied voice in the ceiling, it's actually a little intimidating.

No, he doesn’t think the AI is being melodramatic. He thinks the assessment is pretty much bang on.

But as he and Natasha have no intention of fucking up, things should be okay. Right?

”I guess Tasha’s getting a similar pep talk from your head of security.”

“I guess she is.”

Phil takes another mouthful of coffee as Clint looks thoughtfully at him. Phil raises a curious eyebrow.

"Nothing," Clint says quickly, ducking his head and rubbing his neck which Phil finds rather endearing.

"Must be something. Talk to me, Mr Barton."

There's that commanding voice again that Clint can't seem to resist. It's not forceful, more suggestive of the quiet competence Coulson’s shown during interviews Clint’s watched (over and over but no-one needs to know that).

"Kinda used to seein' you in suits and dress shoes, not jeans an' work boots. What's with the new look?" Clint asks.

Phil smiles enough for the crinkles to deepen a little around his eyes. "More than just a look, Mr Barton. Safety gear's an OSHA requirement on a construction site and the suit... not going to cut it when you're swinging a hammer or cutting timber."

Normally clean-shaven, he juts out his chin and scratches his fingers through the short salt and pepper scruff on his jaw. "Granted maybe this is more of a fashion statement," he quips.

"Right..." Clint draws the word out managing to convey a healthy dose of scepticism into the suggestion Coulson's been doing manual labour on a construction site. The facial hair though, he kinda agrees with even though he knows Coulson means it as a joke. Either way, it's sexy as fuck.

"Uh-huh, and... for the record,” Phil says in an amused tone, “fully paid-up member of the Local 157. Construction might not be my day job but I can keep up with renovation projects without embarrassing myself."

Clint looks at him trying to gauge if Coulson's playing with him or not. Coulson's gaze is unwavering. "You're really not shitting me, are you?"

"I'm really not."

"I didn't find anything about that when I, um…"

"Did your research on me?"

Clint nods, more than a little embarrassed.

"Because I don't talk about it. And... I'd appreciate it if you don't either. It's important to me this stays quiet. Privacy, anonymity; they’re the only way I can make these visits work. Don’t want them to be turned into over-the-top publicity events. Trust me, the people who need the Foundation's help have no desire for prying journalists and photographers to get in their faces."

The news teams and chat show hosts have no idea about this side of Phillip J Coulson, billionaire and CEO of SHIELD Enterprises. He keeps it secret. Labouring as part of the work crew is the most effective way he's found of getting honest feedback on the Foundation. He doesn’t want or need the focus to become fixed on him detracting from the good work _What Dreams May Come_ does. Even his head of PR has stopped asking if they can do a photoshoot around it. Instead, they shake their head in despair at such a golden opportunity going to waste. But they know better than to try and do it without his permission.

“So why did you come straight here… like that,” Clint asks, waving his hand at Phil’s attire. "You could've been spotted."

Phil tilts his head. “Darcy’s call made the situation seem… urgent. I told you I look after my people, Mr Barton. Excellent security on the premises or not, I wasn’t going to leave her with some jackass who apparently doesn’t know when to quit. Not even when my super secret identity is at risk," Phil wisecracks.

More seriously, he adds simply, "Darcy's important to me.”

Clint stares at Coulson for an eternity before appearing to make some kind of decision. He reaches out to take the cup carefully from Coulson's hand and puts it back on the tray. Phil swallows and clenches the muscles in his jaw, flexing and relaxing them as Clint turns back, standing almost face-to-face with him.

“Pretty sure you don’t want to stay there for too long. Not showered yet,” Phil tells him hoping his voice doesn't betray how feels. But it's deepened and sounds gravelly even to his own ears. He wants this. He wants Clint but...

Clint leans in and slides his fingertips down Coulson’s arm. “I could wash your back,” he offers, his voice a rough whisper close to Coulson's ear.

Phil stiffens beneath his touch. He wants Clint but... he’s no longer Clint’s mark and he can’t face the pitying look from the con artist (ex-con artist?) once he realises the same thing.

"You don't need to do that," he says quietly.

"Do what?" Clint asks not moving. Except for his hand. Clint's hand is still stroking his skin.

Phil closes his eyes at his close proximity to Clint with Clint’s warm breath against his ear, and his fingers still lightly brushing the hair on his arms.

"Pretend to be interested,” Phil clarifies. Fuck! It hurts even more to say it out loud than it sounded in his head. “I told you I'd take care of you and Natasha. You’ll be safe here at SHIELD. Well looked after without having to fake… wanting to fuck me.”

Clint's hand stills and he pulls back a little. "Is that what you think?"

"I think you should quit while you’re ahead, Mr Barton."

“Oh. I kinda figured…” Clint drops his hand from Phil’s arm. “I mean, I thought…”

“You thought what?”

Clint shrugs. Shoving his hands deep into his pockets, he shakes his head. “I dunno. I guess I thought… there was something when we talked. On the phone.”

For a second, Phil feels a surge of hope but he knows it’s false. He wants Clint but… if anyone has a claim to him it’s Natasha. Not him.

“Perhaps Ms Romanoff would have something to say about that.” The sudden coolness of Coulson’s voice makes Clint flinch.

“Tasha? Why would… Wait, you think Tasha and I are...? Ew! I mean love her. She means everything to me but in case you hadn’t noticed, and I’m going out on a limb here that you hadn’t or you wouldn’t be making such a dumbass assumption, Tasha has the hots for your security chief.”

Phil blinks. Clint almost laughs at the comical look of surprise on Coulson’s face. Nice to know Mr Apparently Unflappable can actually be knocked off balance.

“And I think maybe it’s not one-sided.”

Phil blinks again. He tilts his head as he considers Clint’s bold statement. Finally, he gives a single, quick nod as though something has fallen into place. Turning his gaze back to Clint he opens his mouth to say something but Clint ploughs on.

“And as for thinking I’m pretending…” Clint’s breath hitches. Well, shit! That's more painful than he thought it would be. “If you’re not interested that’s one thing. And I get that. I can totally understand that. You're so outta my league it’s fuckin’ hilarious. But before you call security or the AI dude or whatever else you intend to do,” Clint pauses to look Coulson in the eye. “I just want you to know, I’m not faking anything with you.”

At disbelieving arch of Coulson’s eyebrow, he admits, “Of _course_ you started off as a mark. I’m a fuckin’ con man. Not like I'm gonna meet you in the bar of The Four Seasons any other way. Hence the reason you're outta my league."

"How could someone who says "hence" in a sentence unironically be out of my league?" Phil says with his barely-there half-smile.

"Don't do that. Don't make fun of me like that."

Phil's taken aback by the pain in Clint's voice. His eyebrows draw together this time creating a little triangle of concerned creases above the bridge of his nose. Once again he opens his mouth to speak, explain he wasn't… he'd never make fun of him. Not like that. And once again Clint beats him to it.

"You want reasons... You come from Manitowoc, Wisconsin where your dad was a well-respected high school teacher, and your mom stayed home to look after you. After years of hard work starting when you were a kid, then later with some balls to the wall, high-risk business decisions that turned out to be successes of fucking epic proportions, you run a company that’s worth billions.

I come from Waverly, Iowa. My dad was the town drunk, my mom was… not so lucky in her choice of husband. After a few shitty years in foster care thanks to my dad wiping himself and my mom out in a drunken car accident, and a few more shitty years in the circus working for a bunch of psycho criminals, I managed to get the fuck away before I ended up dead, and now I do penny ante cons for a livin'."

Phil winces not only at having his words thrown back at him but at hearing the bald facts of Clint's life laid out like that.

"I should just have 'GOLD DIGGER' tattooed on my forehead and be done with it," Clint finishes, breathing heavily after his rant. He turns away from Coulson and slumps against the table, his ass perched on the edge. Phil joins him albeit settling more gently on the table.

"Seems we both have some self-esteem issues," Phil says softly, folding his arms across his chest.

"Says the billionaire who has everything."

"My best friend is my head of security, admittedly whom I love dearly, and... I get woken up every morning at 5 am by a foul-mouthed AI telling me to get my lazy goddamn ass out of bed. What does that say about me?"

"That you're rich as fuck. Most people just have an alarm clock."

Phil's mouth slowly curves into a broad smile and he huffs out a quiet laugh. Clint ducks his head and gives him a sideways glance releasing an amused snort of his own, shakier and less confident at first but building into tension-releasing laughter for them both.

When the laughing subsides, Phil nudges Clint’s shoulder with his own. “I’m sorry. For misunderstanding. For getting it wrong. Twice. It’s just… at the hotel when you and Ms Romanoff touched foreheads and held hands. It was so... intimate. Couldn’t imagine any other explanation other than the two of you being together.”

Clint nods. He’ll give Phil that. From the outside looking in it probably does seem that way.

“Then there’s the whole...”

“Being a con artist thing?” Clint sighs heavily at Phil’s nod. Sometimes life really sucks. “Yeah, can’t really blame you for misunderstanding.”

Phil shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s feigned interest in me to get to what they really want. Guess I have problems telling the difference.”

“More fool them,” Clint growls.

Phil gives Clint a rueful smile. “Money’s a powerful attraction.”

Clint stares at him. “You really have no idea how hot you are, do you?” he asks with fascination in his voice. Taking a now or never chance he adds, “Why don’t you let me show you?”

Clint pushes himself off the table and reaches out to take Phil’s hand, tugging him carefully to his feet. Signalling his intentions with slow easy movements, Clint cradles Phil's face in his hands. The slight scruff scratches against his palms and he finds he likes that. A lot. There's not much of a height difference between the two men, just enough for Clint to lean down a little to gently press his lips to Phil’s. The kiss is soft, undemanding at first, the pressure building little by little in delicious increments until Phil surrenders to it, parting his lips slightly inviting Clint in, an invitation Clint happily accepts. His tongue darts inside to explore Phil's mouth, lightly brushing against Phil's.

Phil moans into Clint's mouth and reaches up wrapping one hand around the back of Clint’s neck while the other slides around from where it rests on Clint's hip to the base of his back, pulling him closer. Clint keens when he feels Phil's hard length against his own, and kisses him roughly with less finesse and more heat, losing himself in the sensation. Phil eagerly responds rolling his hips pressing himself into Clint, licking into his mouth, nipping at his lips, kissing him long and wet and deep.

It's building to a point of no return, and before they end up on top of the table losing all pretence at decency, Phil reluctantly breaks the kiss. He relaxes his grip on Clint's neck and rests his forehead against Clint's.

"I am interested," Phil murmurs. "Have been since we met at the hotel."

Clint wraps his arms around Phil holding him loosely. "I know," he whispers. "Not since then… since you told me to stay safe and called me Clint."

Phil pulls back a little but not out of Clint's embrace. "You heard that?"

Clint smiles at him, lazy smart-ass smirk, and rubs his left thumb against Phil's cheekbone. "Why d'ya think I'm here?"

He places a tender kiss on Phil's lips.

"Oh thank god!"

Horrified, Phil and Clint whip their heads round at Natasha's voice.

Maria gives her a knowing look. "Pathetic pining?" she asks, holding out her hand curled into a fist.

"And sad 2 am phone calls," Natasha tell her, bumping her knuckles against Maria's.

Part mortified at being caught, part pissed at their teasing of him and Phil, and part delighted a truce has apparently been called between Natasha and Maria, Clint drops his head to Phil's shoulder and whines "Aww besties, no!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, I was thinking... this might not be *quite* the end. Although the story could quite easily finish here, I found I had a little more left to write in this AU. If anyone would be interested I maybe add an epilogue chapter set a few months down the line. I might even add a surprise guest.
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and leaving kudos and comments. You really rock!


	5. Seriously! Not a sharing platter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's lunchtime at SHIELD Enterprises and a guest drops in to join Phil, Clint and the gang for one of Chef Rudy's sexy burgers... 
> 
> An epilogue set a few months on from the end of the original story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original story had been completed in chapter 4 then 'Seriously! Not sharing platter.' happened. It's a light bit of fluff with a surprise guest or several. Hope you enjoy :)

"The Avenger."

"Huh?" Phil looks up from his lunch which he’s enjoying with Maria in the private area of the SHIELD HQ roof garden.

Maria’s staring off into the distance while tapping a French fry thoughtfully against her bottom lip. "You can't be Iron Man because Stark. Plus the whole flying suit of armour thing is pretty much a requirement. You can't be Batman because copyright infringement. How about The Avenger for our late night recruitment excursions?"

"One time," Phil protests. "We did that one time!"

"Ooh! Can I be Hawkeye?" asks Clint swooping in for a kiss, deftly swiping a couple of French fries from Phil’s plate at the same time. He licks his lips tasting a trace of gourmet burger transferred from Phil’s lips before shoving the purloined food in his mouth.

"Hey!" Phil further objects, mourning the loss of his lunch. "And I'm currently regretting that decision."

"Mmm, truffle oil n cheese," Clint says around the fries ignoring the wounded look on Phil's face.

"Why Hawkeye?" Maria asks interested, also ignoring her boss’s woeful expression.

Clint drops onto the seat beside Phil and tucks into his own meal.

"Stage name when I was a kid in the circus. Trained as an archer, used to shoot flaming arrows from the back of a horse. The Amazing Hawkeye - World's Greatest Marksman. I never missed,” he confides in a stage whisper, throwing her a cheeky wink.

“Sounds like fun,” Maria replies, a hint of amusement breaking through her façade as she dips a fry into some fresh mayo and swirls it around. She pops it into her mouth with a contented hum.

Clint pauses in his chewing and looks thoughtful for a moment. He swallows his mouthful of burger and replies, “Some good times, I guess.”

"Seriously! Not a sharing platter," Phil complains when Natasha leans down to kiss the top of his head and sneaks away another few fries by sleight of hand.

Clint grins, glad of her timing. He's just volunteered personal information and that scares him. Although not as much as the realisation he's become so comfortable in his life with Phil, and at SHIELD, he did it without thinking. That scares him a lot more.

"Black Widow," Natasha answers in response to Maria's raised eyebrow. It sounds deadly and yet somehow no-one has the urge to ask for an explanation. "I'm keeping it." Wisely no-one has the urge to argue either.

The two women hold eye contact and smile softly at each other as Natasha sits daintily beside Maria then tears into her burger like a ravenous wolf never spilling a drop or getting sauce on her face. Unlike Clint, who just needs to look at his food to end up wearing it much to his frequent chagrin.

Since walking in on Phil and Clint, and sharing a fist bump, the pair have been working on their trust issues, their wariness slowly turning to friendship. They’re interested in more than that with each other, neither would deny it, but they’re content to take things at a leisurely pace. If their fingers should sometimes brush together walking along the corridors of SHIELD, so be it. The promise of more bubbling below the surface is enough for now.

“It wasn’t one time,” Maria argues as though there has been no break in the conversation. “You brought in Daisy when she was living in a van doing her podcasts for that hacktivist group.”

“The Rising Tide. Not quite that successful for a recruitment excursion as I recall,” Phil counters, a little sadness stealing into his voice.

“Okay, so she ended up serving a prison sentence...”

Phil winces at the looks from the other two. “She was attempting to… doesn’t matter. Not important. Maybe if we'd gotten to her sooner.”

“It could have been a lot worse," Maria points out but doesn't elaborate. She does, however, explain what happened next. "Daisy ended up serving time but Coulson managed to get her sentence reduced to five years with parole in eighteen months if she behaved. Don’t ask how he did it. When she was released, he sponsored her under the SHIELD prison outreach programme.”

Knowing Phil as they do now, Clint and Natasha don’t push for further details. They know the fact that he’d lost someone to the system would have hurt him.

"And, of course, there was Jasper. Oh, and Bucky..." Maria continues.

"Okay, point!" Phil interrupts before she can resume her litany of people he’s either recruited to SHIELD or helped gain employment elsewhere. He’s embarrassed enough as it is and doesn’t need Hill making out he’s some kind of saint. He’s not. He has plenty of flaws of his own. “But for every five like Daisy, there’s a Ward.”

“Some people you just can’t save, Coulson. Quit beating yourself up about that jackass. He was bad through and through.” She bites her fry in half with a viciousness that piques both Clint and Natasha’s curiosity.

“Ward?” Natasha encourages. She can hear the disappointment in Phil’s voice offset by the resentment in Maria’s which further intrigues her.

“Troubled teen I thought I could help. Mentored him for a time. Turned out he’d been recruited by a rival company to steal information.” Phil shrugs. “They’d faked his records well enough to pass the outreach programme’s screening process at the time. If it hadn’t been for Hill…”

“Weaselly, little puke!” Maria spits, stabbing her mayo with another fry.

“But he’s gone now, yes?”

“Ohhh, he’s gone,” Maria confirms ominously. It’s both reassuring and a little frightening. Right then Clint’s never been happier he and Tasha gave up their life of crime. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he fell in love to do it. And Tasha has never been more attracted to someone that she is to Maria at that moment.

“So, what’s the deal with the superhero names?” Clint asks shoving his burger into his mouth, taking an enormous bite. He makes no attempt to hold back the near-pornographic groan that falls from his lips and grins around the mouthful of food when he sees the muscles in Phil’s jaw working hard, clenching and unclenching several times before finally bunching together in a tight knot. Admittedly, it does sound remarkably similar to several of the noises he makes in the bedroom (or the chair in the lounge, or the couch in Phil’s office) but at least it’s taken Phil’s mind off the “weaselly little puke”.

With a self-conscious clearing of his throat Phil explains, “Ms Hill believes I should assume a secret identity when we go on our occasional nocturnal excursions. Pretty sure she’s becoming even more of a geek than I am.”

Clint and Natasha smirk at Phil’s use of Maria’s title with her surname. He only does that if he’s pissed at her or teasing her.

Maria points a fry at him. “First of all, Mr I-Have-An-Entire-Room-In-My-Home-Dedicated-To-Captain-America, no-one at this table could ever out-geek you.”

Phil ducks his head and looks up at Maria with a sheepish half-smile. "Busted."

“And second…” This time M.A.R.C.U.S. cuts her off.

“Consider yourselves warned, motherfuckers. Incoming!”

Seconds later a blast of Metallica’s _Hallowed Be Thy Name_ blares from the sky while a red and gold suited figured drops effortlessly onto the edge of the roof garden where Phil’s had a small landing deck installed. The Iron Man suit peels back quickly and efficiently to reveal Tony Stark as he struts towards them, his arms open wide in a grand 'look at me' gesture.

“J’arrive!” he announces.

“Be still my beating heart,” Darcy snarks sitting at the table in time for Chef Rudy to set a plate piled high with burger goodness in front of her. “Thanks, Chef. Don’t touch my food, metalman or suffer the consequences.”

“Bouncy to see you, Darcy dearest,” grins Stark backing away as Darcy reaches into her giant purse to retrieve her taser brandishing it at him with intent.

“Boy Toy. Triple Imposter. Lethal Weapon,” he greets the other three who nod back at him, Maria accompanying hers with an eye roll and the lazy wave of a French fry from her apparently never-ending supply.

Counting today, it’s the fourth time Clint and Natasha have been in Tony Stark’s presence. A little bit of tension remains over the wedding gift scam - not from Stark, he’s long since forgiven them having found it hilarious - but on the side of Clint and Natasha. Tony’s loud, obnoxious, and usually at the centre of attention but the pair recognise someone who’s damaged underneath all that swagger. Clint genuinely likes him, finds him funny as hell. Natasha is equal parts frustrated and fond. They’re still not quite sure how to react to him but they’re learning.

Phil, on the other hand, has no such problems.

“Subtle as always, Stark,” he says dryly, rising from his seat. Tony closes in on him and gathers him into an awkward but affectionate hug. Feeling him stretch towards the table behind him, Phil admonishes, “And my fries are completely off-limits.”

Tony pulls back to look at him gasping in mock outrage. “You wound me!”

“I _will_ wound you. Darcy has permission to taser first, and ask questions later. So... stop trying to reach them.”

“Yay!” Darcy chirps, a wicked grin spreading across her face at the thought of using her shiny new taser. "What?" she enquires of the odd looks from Clint and Natasha. "He freaks me out sometimes with his scary enthusiasm."

“Some days you are as dull as dishwater, Super-Nanny,” Tony informs Phil while drawing his blue-tinted aviators from his pocket and slipping them on.

“Like you would know dishwater,” retorts Clint before he can stop himself. He shoves some fries in his mouth to keep it from running off again.

“Score one to Boy Toy!” smirks Stark, genuinely impressed Clint’s had the confidence to joke with him. It’s not the first time but it’s the quickest snapback he’s given yet. “This old man still having his wicked way with you?”

“Maybe even over this very table…” Phil deadpans. The three women and Chef Rudy all stop and stare in horrified fascination at a point on the scrubbed timber (which will be thoroughly scrubbed again by the chef whether true or not). No-one can tell if Phil’s being serious. Except for Clint who continues to eat his food with a grin, giving nothing away.

Stark looks at Phil aghast. He tips his aviators to the end of his nose with the tip of his forefinger and peers at him over the top of them. “That’s… I can’t… That’s _actually_ … kinda hot.”

Phil looks smug and shrugs a shoulder at him.

“Happy to see you, Stark but… why’re you here?” he asks, guiding the topic back to safer territory.

"Ha! Nice try, Coulson but you can’t trick me today. We have a meeting. A mee- _ting_?" he repeats at Phil's puzzled look. "That thing where we sit around and do adulting."

Phil's confusion clears. "That was at eleven."

Tony consults his watch. "Not so bad. It's only one."

"Yesterday."

"Oh." Stark visibly deflates. "Douchebags! Seriously? J.A.R.V.I.S. back me up here, buddy. I really tried this time, huh?”

“That is true. Sir, did indeed request that I remind him at various intervals which I endeavoured to do. Unfortunately, as Sir also threatened to remap my neural net if I disturbed him again, I felt it was more prudent to inform you of his inability to attend rather than be re-written as an ATM. Yesterday,” J.A.R.V.I.S. adds, somewhat unnecessarily an aggrieved Stark feels.

Although they're snickering at the AI's sass, Clint and Natasha find it weird hearing the polite English tones coming from the same place they’re used to hearing the snarky, foul-mouthed voice of M.A.R.C.U.S. Clint wonders if Coulson's AI minds the intrusion.

"Good call, J.A.R.V.I.S. So stay. Have lunch with us," Phil offers, knowing his friend probably feels like an idiot right about now. Everyone in the business world knows his timekeeping sucks and generally berate him for it. If it wasn’t for Pepper, Happy and J.A.R.V.I.S. he’d spend all of his time in one of his labs or his workshop in Stark Tower.

"A scotch or several wouldn't go amiss," he says at the same time Coulson adds, "And by lunch I mean food.”

“Chef Rudy?"

“Already cookin’, boss,” he says to Phil, preparing a burger to Tony's preference as the banter goes back and forth.

"You sure? Awesome as I am I wouldn't want to put you out."

Phil can see the vulnerability behind Tony’s bravado. It makes him sad and pisses him off in equal measures but he swallows his anger as he always does. The two men he really wants to take it out on are no longer here and he wouldn’t hurt his friend by saying anything.

"Not intruding. Sit." Phil instructs returning to his place beside Clint. There's no doubt it's an order but it's said kindly so Tony doesn't argue. He sits at the opposite end from Darcy then cries out in delight when a little robot on wheels scurries towards him like an over-eager puppy, holding a drink in its claw.

“Good job, little guy! Who are you?” He takes the glass setting it on the table and slides off his seat dropping onto one knee to examine the machine. Rolling it back and forward and round in a circle he grins as the little bot squeals in apparent delight.

Clint shoots a look at Phil who shrugs, a little half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Stark also glances up at him long enough to complain, “Again with the wounding. You going somewhere else for your tech, Coulson? I mean, this is good. Really good but if you’d wanted a bot, I’d’ve designed one for you.”

“Nothing to do with me, I assure you. But… two AIs get together who knows what they get up to..."

"Skynet," breathes Darcy.

"Bitch, please! If I was gonna get all Skynet on your ass it'd be over before you even knew it was happenin'," M.A.R.C.U.S. announces haughtily.

Darcy squeaks.

J.A.R.V.I.S. tries to reassure her. "Nothing to worry about I assure you, Miss Lewis. Sir has programmed M.A.R.C.U.S. and myself never to harm his family or allow them to be harmed. And as you are a member of Sir's family you are quite safe."

"I am?" Darcy's tone is soft.

"Absolutely, Miss.”

“You’re Coulson’s people,” M.A.R.C.U.S. clarifies. “That makes you Stark’s people too.”

Clint looks to Phil again who smiles at him, soft and tender and warm, and reaches out to take his hand, bringing it to his mouth pressing his lips gently against Clint’s knuckles. The gesture melts Clint’s insides leaving him feeling wanted and loved.

Ignoring the conversation going on above him, Tony allows himself to fall back onto his ass and sits cross-legged to play with his new friend. He throws the multi-tool he slips from his pocket across the roof and the robot whistles and chatters enthusiastically before zooming off after it. He returns with the tool in his claw and drops it into Tony’s hand chirping excitedly. Starks throws it again, and the bot chases after it a second time. For all intents and purposes, the CEO of Stark Industries is like a kid playing fetch with his dog.

“I shall call you Pup-E,” Tony says to the little bot after a few happy minutes. He gives him a final pat on his head before getting to his feet and sitting at the table. “Thanks, guys. Love him.”

“Most welcome, Sir.”

“Yeah, enjoy the little asshole.”

Pup-E wheels himself close to Stark and waits pressed against his leg… well, like an affectionate puppy.

Tony tucks into the burger and fries that have been set down by Chef Rudy and closes his eyes with a moan almost as obscene as Clint’s. “Marry me, Chef. Have my babies."

“They’d be pretty I don’t doubt it, Mr Stark, but I gotta say no. Already married to my kitchen an’ she don’ like to share.”

Stark actually looks crestfallen for a moment, however, he just nods in acceptance and chows down some more burger. A moment or so later and totally out of the blue, he picks up on the conversation from earlier which he’d obviously been listening to.

“Super-Nanny here collects waifs and strays. Takes damaged people and fixes them even if they'd given up on themselves; thought there was nothing left to repair. If he’s taken you in, it’s likely he’s seen something in you no-one else has. Including you. Trust me. I know.”

He salutes Coulson with the remains of his burger. Coulson drops his chin to his chest and tilts his head to look at Stark, acknowledging the gesture with a shy smile.

“So, have to ask, Lethal Weapon," Tony says, shifting his attention to less awkward territory, although way more dangerous. "You or Testarossa going to do something about the UST between you anytime soon? And if so, can I watch?”

Maria flicks her last fry at him, glaring at him when he manages to catch it in his mouth and chews it smugly. Figuring it’s a good time to leave (and to prevent being riled further by Stark), she cleans her hands with her napkin and declares someone should give the impression that they work around here, may as well be her. With a nod to everyone at the table and another glare at Tony, she heads back to her office.

“One day, Stark, she’s going to hurt you,” Phil tells him, his eyebrow cocked with amusement.

“Or perhaps I will,” Natasha says pleasantly. It's enough to make everyone at the table pause.

"That probably isn't meant to sound as hot as it does," Tony says, halting mid-chew of his burger.

"Correct. It's not." Natasha still sounds pleasant but her steady, unblinking gaze on him, as she eats a fry slowly, bite by bite, finally freaks him out. He swallows noisily and stares back like a deer caught in the headlights.

"Honey, I think you just broke the genius billionaire playboy philanthropist," Clint tells her with a wide grin.

With a tiny upward twitch of her lips in the barest of smiles, Tasha responds, “Then my work here is done.”

“Nope. Can't deal. Too scary,” Tony says to Phil keeping his gaze firmly fixed on Natasha. “And yet I still want one.”

Phil rolls his eyes and snorts. “Good luck with that.”

The banter goes back and forth for a while until the food is pretty much gone and only Stark is left with the final few fries on his plate.

“Oh, hey!” he says pointing one at Phil. “That meeting you asked me to…”

“Yesterday,” Darcy reminds him, getting a fistbump from Clint across the table.

“Rude!” Tony returns. “What was it about?”

Phil nods. “A new project through the Foundation. Could prove quite a challenge. Might piss off the military. Interested?”

Tony tips his shades to the end of his nose again and smirks. “General Ross?”

“And Major Talbot.”

“Double-tap. Impressive. Can safely say my interest is piqued. Care to take me through it?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“And on that note,” Clint interrupts, leaning in to give Coulson a chaste peck on his cheek. “Tasha and I have scams to plan.”

Phil raises a curious eyebrow.

“Figuratively speaking,” Natasha tells him, slapping the back of Clint’s head.

“Somehow… still doesn’t fill me with confidence.”

“Very wise,” she agrees, getting up from the table with Clint and Darcy. “Have fun storming the military base.”

Stark's face lights up.

“She’s kidding,” Phil says quickly to dispell him of any such notions. Then he shrugs thoughtfully. “Mostly.”

“Wow! Really? I am so into this.”

"Stark's right about one thing…" Tasha murmurs into Clint's ear as they walk away. "It's maybe time Maria and I do something about our UST."

Clint doesn't reply in words, she doesn't need him to. But he does take her hand in his to give it a gentle squeeze letting her know he couldn't be happier for her.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this was supposed to be a 1500 word fic completed in a few weeks. I have no discipline. Nevertheless, I really hope you enjoy it. Feel free to leave comments, you know I love to hear from you :)
> 
> Not my toys - just borrowing them from Marvel to play with.


End file.
